We had meant to put in a new bath, later on; but now of course we could not. The green bath worried me, and the paint wearing off; it seemed to get worse week by week, and the wall where the brushes hung was dirty.
Walter worked always in the evenings now. It was the only time he got for working at his book.
‘If I leave that altogether,’ he said, ‘I can’t live. It is the only thing that takes me away from the War.’
While he worked in his study, I sat downstairs and sewed. There was always mending to be done, and I mended. I did not mend well either; it seemed to me, at this time, that I could do nothing well.
And then, at the end of March, George Addington was killed.
XVII
I heard the news from Mollie, in a letter. The letter came at midday, by an unusual post, and I thought:
‘A letter from Mollie. How nice to hear from her!’
And I took it upstairs with me to read. Eleanor was asleep in her pram.
I sat down on my bed, and opened the letter. I thought of Mollie and how much I should like to see her.